


you look so good in blue

by patdkitten



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, also there's cats, i swear it ends happily ever after, it's a lot more complicated than that, louis is a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3512273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patdkitten/pseuds/patdkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Mr. Styles?”</p><p>If he's honest with himself, Harry's not sure what his stance is on the subject. So he just smiles and shrugs before leaving. After all, he's never actually <i>met</i> a ghost, that he knows about. Besides, even a ghost wouldn't bring him down on how affordable the rent on the flat is.</p><p> </p><p>Or: Harry Styles hears about a perfect flat from his roommate Zayn's boyfriends and decides to sign the lease. The only problem is: the flat has a reputation for being haunted. It certainly doesn't help that Harry's cat is seeing things as soon as they move in...</p>
            </blockquote>





	you look so good in blue

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Fall Out Boy's Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner
> 
> As noted by the warnings: there is **major character death** (of a sort, hence the ghost tag as well as the 'it's a lot more complicated than that' tag) and **graphic depiction of violence** leading to said "death". More info/spoilers in the notes at the end. 
> 
> Header/mix is by amberdowny over on LJ (she did an awesome job). Mix can be found at 8tracks [here](http://8tracks.com/amberdowny/you-look-so-good-in-blue)
> 
>  
> 
> I'd also like to thank Tanni and Kayla for the handholding that I needed during this. Tanni especially got a lot of messages about how much I hated writing this (I had a lot of writer's block during it), so she's a champ.
> 
> This isn't beta'd, but I think I caught most of my errors in the numerous times I went over it. If I've missed anything, leave a comment so I can fix it.
> 
> Also, since it never gets addressed in the fic: D.C. and Jake are both named after Disney cats. D.C. is short for Darn (Damn) Cat, and Jake is the name of the alien cat from The Cat From Outer Space. (I thought it would be cute that both Harry and Louis name their cats after 60s/70s Disney movies)

  


  
  


 

The flat is, in a word, spacious. The location is great, the rent is amazing for said location, and the living room has the best view in the whole bloody world, showcasing the city in wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that span nearly one whole wall. And they take _undeclawed cats_ despite the fact that most of the flat is wall to wall wood flooring. Actual wood flooring, not the fake stuff that are a bitch to clean. The fact that they take undeclawed cats is great, because Harry's cat D.C. still has his claws. Harry is a rather firm believer that declawing a cat is nothing short of torture.

There has _got_ to be a catch to such a great package. Harry's just about to ask what the catch is – he's heard about the place from his good friend Niall, who lives in the flat just below this one, but Niall wouldn't tell him anything about the place beyond some hand waving and abrupt conversation changes – when he notices there's crime scene tape still across the door to the bath.

The young woman giving him the tour of the flat – she'd introduced herself as Eleanor, the manager of the complex – blows and pops a pretty impressive bubble and pulls down the police tape indifferently, shoving it in the pocket of her jumper and trying to act like nothing had just happened. Harry doesn't think she's doing a very good job of it, if he's honest. “So, this is the bath then. One of the largest in the building, actually.”

Harry eyes her pocket curiously – her obvious attempt at a nonchalant attitude while taking it down and hiding it in her jumper is pretty suspect even though he's willing to let it slide because the flat is _amazing_ for the price - as the door swings open on what is definitely the largest bath he's ever seen in a house, much less a flat. He's used to the shower and bathtub being together, but there's a large soaker tub against one wall with a large lip around it. He can already picture kicking Zayn out of the flat on a night and surrounding the tub with soft candlelight and light jazz and relaxing with a good book and a glass of wine. If that spacious living room he'd just left hadn't sold him on this place, this bath certainly is.

In addition to the soaker tub, there's a shower large enough to fit two people comfortably tucked into the far corner, the clear glass door facing the toilet. The vanity holds two sinks and enough counter space that Harry's sure his and Zayn's respective products shouldn't mingle the way they do in the place they've got now.

“It's perfect.” Harry says as he follows Eleanor back to the front door following the tour. The master bedroom is nearly as large as the living room, and the second bedroom is half that. Harry's already sure he could wrangle the master bedroom out from under Zayn. After all, living in the same building as his boyfriends Niall and Liam, Zayn's probably going to spend nearly all his time downstairs anyway.

And the kitchen. Oh god, the kitchen. It's everything Harry could possibly want in a kitchen and more. He can't wait to make meals in it.

“So you're interested in the place then?” Eleanor asks cheerfully as she leads the way back downstairs to the main office. Harry knows that this is clearly a decision he should consult Zayn on, but he's also pretty sure that Zayn could live in a cardboard box as long as he could be near his boyfriends and could paint.

He watches as she tosses the crime scene tape in a waste basket sitting by the desk in the office and nods. “Yeah. I just have one question.”

Eleanor had been in the process of digging through her desk, but she freezes imperceptibly at his words. She quickly recovers, making him wonder if maybe he just imagined it as she plasters a smile on her face and pulling out the paperwork she was looking for. “What question's that?”

He runs his hands through his curls, trying to figure out how to word it without being blunt before deciding to just ask point blank. “The flat is huge. It should be twice what you're asking for. At least twice.”

Whatever else he has to say, she waves away with a breezy smile and tucks a few strands of dark hair behind one ear. It's a much better attempt at avoiding the question than her hiding the crime scene tape before, a far cry from it even. “It's got a bit of a rep, the place has. The previous resident cut out in the middle of the night, claiming their things were getting thrown about. The couple before them claimed they heard crying in the place, scratching in the walls and their baby giggling at nothing.” She clicks a pen with a professional air, turning paperwork toward him. “Some people have way too much imagination and love their horror movies a bit too much, you know?”

Harry's a bit put off by Eleanor's breezy attitude on the subject, has been by the way she so skillfully deflects anything that might put him off taking the flat, but he signs the paperwork where she points and promises to send Zayn in to sign his share before moving day.

He's on his way out the door when Eleanor calls him back. There's a bit of hesitation in her eyes, but the breezy smile is back shortly to wash it away.

“You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Mr. Styles?”

If he's honest with himself, Harry's not sure what his stance is on the subject. So he just smiles and shrugs before leaving. After all, he's never actually _met_ a ghost, that he knows about. Besides, even a ghost wouldn't bring him down on how affordable the rent on the flat is.

If ghosts even exist.

After all, horror movies aren't truly Harry's cup of tea, and his day job of being a private investigator doesn't allow for much in the way of imagination. Too much imagination is more Zayn's thing anyway.

 

 

For him, things exist in Here and Not Here. He doesn't know where he is when he's Not Here, just that it's dark, cold and lonely. Here, though, isn't much better. Here is his flat, but if he tries to leave, Here becomes Not Here. He also knows that he's missing quite a few things, and he's missing more and more whenever Here becomes Not Here.

He remembers his first name, Louis, but he can't recollect his last name. He remembers that his cat, a beautiful fluffy creature with mismatched green and yellow eyes, is named Jake, but he can't remember what the cat's name was a reference to, although he can remember that it had been important to him when he'd gotten the cat in the first place. He can't remember what his furniture looked like, but every time he's Here, the furniture is always different. And he knows that's _wrong_ , that the furniture should look a certain way – even if he can't remember in what way – but he doesn't know _why_ it's wrong.

The last time he'd been Here, there'd been a man staying in his room. Louis hadn't known the man, didn't know why the man was in his flat, much less why he never reacted to anything Louis had said to him. The stranger had left one night, after Louis had thrown quite a few things at the bedroom door in a fit of anger at being ignored.

The time before that, there'd been a young couple with a baby and equally strange furniture. The baby had reacted to Jake mostly, had giggled every time Jake had put in an appearance, but had smiled once at Louis when Louis had peered into the crib. Something about the baby had tugged at memories that had quickly fallen through the cracks just as soon as Louis' had them, and he'd spent many a night after the baby smiled at him crying in the bathroom for his lost memories.

At some point, Here became Not Here for Louis, and then the couple with the baby had become the strange man sleeping in his bedroom, and now the strange man had become two young men standing in the middle of the living room, looking around at the artwork lining the wall behind plush furniture.

One of the young men was cooing at a scruffy looking cat in his arms that seemed utterly bored of the attention while the other was trying to decide if a painting was crooked.

“This is my flat,” Louis says out loud, or thinks he does. He's never sure if he speaks aloud anymore, and since no one reacts when he does speak, he doesn't have much of a frame of reference on the subject. Neither man turns to him, although the cat's ears flick his way with decidedly more interest than it was giving its owner.

“You can't stay here. Go somewhere else.” He tries again, taking a few steps forward.

The man holding the cat puts it down, scratching between the scrawny creature's shoulder blades a moment before straightening. His green eyes seem to look directly at Louis, but he doesn't react to Louis' words, turning instead to his companion. The cat, however, looks up at Louis with intense concentration that causes a flicker of a memory of Jake doing the same thing to flutter through Louis' mind. “Now that we're all moved in, Zaynie, how about we go out with Liam and Niall to celebrate?”

His companion, Zaynie, straightens the painting he's been staring at, brushing his hands off on his shirt. “Sounds like a plan, Haz. Let's go.”

The pair of them leave and Louis moves to follow them out of the flat. He takes a step out of the door behind them and things go from Here to Not Here again.

 

Harry had forgotten how absolutely and utterly exhausting it was to move. The last flat he and Zayn had lived in had been the flat Harry'd moved into when he'd originally turned 18, and they'd been there for a few years before moving to this flat. It had taken a few days, and a lot of bribing of quite a few of his and Zayn's friends (and Zayn's boyfriends), but Harry and Zayn are finally settled in. It hadn't taken much convincing on Harry's part to get the master bedroom for himself, mostly because Zayn was far more interested in spending time downstairs like Harry had predicted, but it's still a few days into living in the flat before Harry gets an opportunity to try out the soaker tub.

Zayn's out on a date with Liam, and Harry has the whole flat to himself. Well, he's also got D.C., but he never really counts his cat. Besides, the cat is sleeping quite peacefully a blanket Zayn had left, so Harry can expect at least twenty minutes without D.C. meowing at him for attention. Thirty, if he's especially lucky.

He puts on some quiet instrumental jazz, letting the music fill the flat as he lights the half dozen or so candles he'd put around the tub. He fills the tub itself with warm water and just a hint of scented oil before making his way to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine.

As he's standing in the kitchen pouring the glass, he hears a soft 'plop' from the bathroom. On his return, he finds one of the candles knocked into the tub. He shakes his head as he sets his glass of wine down on the floor, brushing it off as D.C. living up to his actual name and that Harry hadn't been so lucky after all, and fishes out the candle. He wipes it dry with the towel, replacing and relighting the candle before turning away to undress.

Behind him, there's another quiet 'plop'. When he turns around, the exact same candle is back in the water.

“Goddammit, D.C.” Harry frowns, fishing the candle out again. He wipes it off again, replaces and relights the candle before wrapping the towel around himself and looks around for the cat in question. He hesitates when he finds D.C. still fast asleep. The cat sleepily chirps when he runs a finger down its spine, stretching itself out and focusing on following something going from the bath to the far corner of the room to the couch and back to the bath as it wakes up. A part of Harry's mind quietly whispers that D.C. has been doing that since they moved into the flat, watching things that only the cat can see, but he ignores it so he doesn't have to think too heavily on it. Besides, it's probably just bugs that had gotten into the flat, or the complex has a rodent problem.

Although. He's never actually seen droppings, which dissuades that thought. But. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about how the affable and friendly D.C. has been acting like he's watching another cat in his space.

The candle is back in the water when Harry returns to the bathroom. His glass of wine is in the candle's place, despite him having left the glass on the floor away from the tub. His mind briefly recalls Eleanor saying that a past resident of the flat had spoken of things being thrown, but he shakes himself of the thought. After all, that's thinking too hard on it, and this isn't exactly things being thrown.

“Just exhaustion,” He tells himself as he relights the candle for the fourth time, placing it where it had been and picking up his glass of wine. “Stress of a new place. Candle must not've been far enough from the edge. That's all.”

The explanation doesn't take into account the odd traveling of his wine glass, but he's quite happy to pretend that he forgot where he'd set the glass in the first place.

He takes a sip of wine as he settles into the tub, resting the back of his head against the back of the tub. He thinks he could get used to a soaker tub, really. Usually, tubs make him feel cramped, with his knees sticking up out of the water and his feet flat against the far side of the tub. But this soaker tub is just this side of heaven. Much like the shower, it's clearly a tub built for two people, and it is absolutely perfect for someone of Harry's height. Too bad that he doesn't have someone to share the tub with.

Harry sets his wine glass down on the floor, shifting his legs a bit before he can properly slide down the back of the tub and dunking his head under the water. He's only under a few seconds before he feels like someone's watching him. Despite the oil in the water, his eyes snap open while he's still underwater.

There _is_ someone watching him. He doesn't see much, the image deluded in the water, but it's enough that he can tell there's a man standing over the tub, looking down at him with wide eyes from under a brown fringe of hair.

Harry shoots himself up out of the water, ready to confront the intruder, but only finds himself in an empty bathroom. He looks around wildly, shivering in the suddenly cold air of a bathroom that had been pleasantly warm only a few seconds before.

He stumbles out of the tub, forgoing the towel as he goes to check the door. The door, which is still locked, with the chain in place. After all, Zayn wasn't expecting to come home tonight, which is why Harry had put the chain up in the first place.

Harry shivers a bit in the chilly flat, mind replaying Eleanor's comments about things being thrown and a person crying in the bathroom as well as her question about whether he believed in ghosts. He shakes himself out of it after a moment. “Balcony. Window. An intruder must've gotten in somehow.”

A thorough check of the flat reveals absolutely nothing. No man, no unlocked or open window. Harry is very much alone in his flat, except for the cat. The cat that is now fast asleep once more.

The thought makes him shiver again before he takes a deep breath and retreats back to the bathroom.

“It's exhaustion playing with my mind.” He announces to his reflection in the mirror. His reflection doesn't respond, not that he was expecting it to, but he does notice movement in the mirror. He watches, dumbstruck, as the same candle wiggles its way back into the tub. It moves in exactly the same way it would if D.C. had knocked the candle into the water.

Except for one important thing: there isn't a cat, D.C. or some other strange cat, sitting by the tub knocking candles in the water.

 

 

Louis comes back Here in the bathroom. Something about the room tugs at a memory that's just out of his grasp as he looks around. He goes unnoticed as the current occupant of his flat moves around the large room, putting candles all around the tub and the vanity while he waits for the tub to fill. While the water runs, Jake hops up and settles in behind some of the candles. One candle, though, is apparently too close for the cat's apparent comfort because shortly, it's knocked into the water.

After that, there's a mini battle between Jake and the current occupant of the flat – the occupant returning the candle to its place and Jake knocking the candle into the water in pure cat fashion – and it finally concludes with the occupant looking into the mirror as he reassures himself he's only exhausted and that's why he's seeing things.

Jake takes that as his cue to knock the candle back into the water. The occupant closes his eyes after, taking multiple deep breaths before he empties out the tub and blows out the candles.

“Done with your bath then, Harry.” The young man mutters to himself as he goes about the flat. Louis follows him into the bedroom, watching as the young man crawls under the covers and soon falls asleep.

The young man's scrawny cat hops up on the bed, watching Louis for a moment before settling in next to its owner's long legs with a loud purr. Before he can think better of it, Louis reaches to pet the cat and freezes when his fingers brush against the sleeping young man.

 

 

The water is warm and comforting and Louis feels utterly worn out. Jake sits perched on his usual spot on the far side of the tub – all the better to fall in if the cat isn't too careful – and Louis lifts one foot to gently prod the feline with a wet toe. As expected, the feline looks down at the offending digit before making his way along the lip of the tub and hopping down on the bathroom floor. 

The cat pushes open the bathroom door, closed more as a hint of privacy than anything else, and Louis can hear his lover pacing in the living room. He smiles to himself, pushing himself up in the water and leans a bit to one side as he tries to catch a glimpse of the man.

“Babe? Why don't you come join me? You'll feel a lot more relaxed.” If he cranes a bit more, he can just see his lover and the man looks stressed out and ready to pull his hair. Louis feels his smile slipping a bit into a frown, because while he feels worn out, they _did_ just make love a little bit ago. His lover shouldn't be irritated about something, the man should be in this soaker tub with Louis. Maybe even offering to soap up Louis' back for him. Louis would love that, honestly, and be quite willing to return it in whatever aspect or favour his lover wants.

His lover comes in the room, looking down at Louis with an expression he can't quite read but he can feel a chill running down his spine despite the warm water surrounding him. Suddenly, Louis doesn't want to be in the tub, he wants to be out of it.

“I have to end this.” The man says, still looking down at Louis with an unreadable expression.

Louis plants both hands on either side of the soaker tub, maneuvering himself so he can push himself up. He doesn't get far before his lover shoves him down into the water, his head disappearing under the water. The man is at least twice Louis' size, a fact that had always been a turn-on for Louis, but right now, it scares him. He's twice Louis' size and he's far stronger than Louis is, but Louis manages to break his grip long enough to resurface. He manages to gasp for air before the man is shoving him back under.

He tries to buck against the weight holding him down, tries to hold his breath, but after what feels like a long agonizing time, his lungs start burning with the need to breathe. As his lungs burn more, he can feel his strength weakening and his attempts becoming more and more useless.

He's going to die right here, in his bathtub. The thought crosses Louis' mind, even as his watery vision begins to darken at the edges until all he can see is the man he thought cared for him stands overhead and continues to hold him down under the water. He can hear the man muttering to himself as he continues to hold him down, not letting the flailing deter him from his horrible task.

He tries to push weakly at his lover one final time, trying not to think about dying and what his mum will say when he's found dead in his bathroom and who will take care of Jake when he's gone. He can't ignore the burning in his lungs anymore and his body gasps for air, finding only water.

 

Harry's dreaming. He knows that as sure as anything when he snaps awake just as he breathes in water. There's a moment where he's still very sure he's Louis, whoever that was, still fighting weakly for air, but as he breathes in and out slowly to calm himself, he comes back to himself and distances himself further and further from the dream.

As he comes back to himself, Harry's suddenly aware that he's not alone in his room. He thinks Zayn must've come home, gotten in somehow past the chain, but he realises how ridiculous the thought is even as it passes through his head. And besides, if it were Zayn, the other man would've wrapped his arms around him as soon as Harry had snapped awake from the dream, all the better to calm down a person suffering from a nightmare. He certainly feels like he must've been flailing about in his sleep.

There's a weight on his ankles and Harry carefully sits up, reaching down to stroke his fingers through... much thicker, fluffier fur than D.C. has. Then, in the dim light streaming in through the window, he notices the small ball of fur next to his legs.

Harry takes a deep breath, tries to tell himself that he's still shaking off the dream. While Louis, whoever that is although Harry is now worried that it's a former occupant of the flat who might've actually been murdered in the soaker tub Harry had been in earlier, he'd brushed his toe against the cat in his dream, and the cat had thick hair like the weight on his ankles.

“I'm only imagining it. Side effect of a bad dream,” Harry tells himself, but forces himself to lean over to flip on the lamp next to his bed. Eyes closed against the sudden brightness, Harry hazards a quick glance down on his feet, only to find....

Nothing. There's still a weight on his ankles, which stays for a couple more seconds before it disappears, and Harry has the very distinct feeling that he's just annoyed a sleeping cat. He's not sure how he knows – there hadn't been an actual cat on his ankles, after all – but he definitely feels like he does when he disturbs D.C.

For a brief moment, Harry wonders if the non-existent cat was why he didn't feel alone, but the feeling doesn't go away just because the invisible weight on his ankles is gone. Maybe the invisible cat is still on the bed, although he can't see the dip in the bed that even the scrawny D.C. makes when he's asleep, or even on the floor. He can't see anything that would indicate the presence of another cat.

He closes his eyes, inhaling and exhaling like he does when he does yoga and needs to ground himself, before opening them again. “Hello? Is someone there?”

He feels a bit stupid, talking aloud to nothing he can see and what is probably just all in his head from exhaustion and the earlier scare, but there's a sharp intake of air from the foot of his bed, much like someone taking a deep breath after holding it for a very long time. He can't see anyone standing there, and Harry's suddenly a bit worried that someone _had_ gotten in earlier and has just been hiding all this time waiting to kill him.

“Please don't be a psycho killer,” Harry says aloud, even as he leans over. He has the intention of looking under the bed, but he sees the outline of... something as he starts to lean. It takes a few tries, and Harry feels a bit stupid going from side to side, but he finally manages to get whatever it is into focus.

As soon as it's in focus, it's almost like there's a switch flipped somewhere, and the something becomes more distinct. There is a young man standing at the foot of the bed, wringing his hands with a distressed look on his face. Harry's reminded of Lady Macbeth attempting to wash her hands of blood, except for the fact where he can also see his bedroom door through the young man.

Something primal in Harry wants to scream because there is a _young man standing in his room_ , even if he can see his bedroom door through said young man. He manages to compose himself, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. There's a moment where he hopes that he's only imagining it, yet another side effect of the horrible dream, and that the transparent young man will be gone once he opens his eyes again.

He cracks open one eye to see if he's right and. No such luck. The young man – the ghost, really, because that's the only explanation Harry's got to fit the limited facts he's been given – is still standing at the edge of his bed, looking much like a lost little doe.

“Can you.” The ghost begins, looking startled when Harry focuses on him. “You can see me, can't you?”

Harry can't help it; he looks around his bedroom as if expecting to see someone else the ghost could be talking to, but it's just the two of them and the sleeping D.C. The ghost is still standing there, looking less nervous now that it's obvious Harry can see him.

“Oh thank god, you can.” The ghost heaves an audible sigh. He's got an accent that Harry's not used to, coupled with a pitch that's a bit higher than usual and Harry wonders if it's a side effect of being ghostly, although it also sounds a lot like Louis' voice in that dream. He doesn't really know, has no experience in ghosts, definitely didn't believe in ghosts before this moment. “I was starting to think no one would ever see me again.”

“You're a ghost.” It sounds stupid as soon as it leaves Harry's mouth, and judging by the rather sad look that crosses the ghost's face at his words, he immediately regrets having said it. He can hear his mum's voice in his head, scolding him to quickly remedy such a stupid comment and erase the look of shock and sadness that's on the ghost's face. “I mean, I think you are. I can see right through you, not that I've ever met a ghost before.”

The ghost wrings his hands again, worrying his lower lip. “I was wondering about that. The ghost part, I mean. You're the first person to see me in what feels like a very long time, except for Jake.” He pauses, looking around the room. “Not that anyone seems to be able to see Jake either, but he's around here somewhere.” His shoulders slump, hands falling to his side. “Being a ghost would explain a lot.”

Harry's heart immediately goes out to the ghost at that, and he scoots down to the end of his bed to reach out for the ghost to comfort it, him. But before his hand connects with the ghost, the young man disappears, leaving Harry completely alone in his room. Although, he'd also thought he'd been alone earlier when he'd seen the man in the bathroom.

Harry frowns to himself, grabbing a pair of trackies and putting them on. He hadn't gotten a very good look at either the man or the ghost, but the more he thinks about it, the more he's wondering if they're not the same person. It would, after all, explain the fact that he couldn't find the intruder earlier. But would it also explain the dream he'd had? Could it be possible that he'd had the dream _because_ of the ghost he'd seen in his bath?

Feeling a bit stupid, Harry makes his way to his living room. “Hello? Ghost boy? I'm sorry if you didn't want to be touched. Please come back?”

He stops in the middle of the living room, all the better to see most of the rooms of the flat, but the only thing he sees is D.C. padding out of his bedroom. The scrawny creature sits down in the doorway, yawning wide at Harry as if asking why he'd left the bedroom.

“Did you see someone, D.C.?” Harry asks the cat, going over to scratch its ears. D.C. butts his head against his hand briefly before fixing his attention on the bathroom. The young man from before is standing by the tub, looking down at it with an unreadable expression on his face.

There's a moment where Harry considers just going to bed and putting this whole experience down to exhaustion like the candle earlier, with a side effect of the intense feeling of being drowned; but as he watches the young man staring at the bathtub, he realises that the tub is the same one from his dream.

“You were killed in that tub, weren't you?” He asks softly, making his way to the bathroom carefully. He doesn't want to startle the ghost again, just wants to comfort the poor thing. If he could, he'd pull the poor creature into a hug and murmur reassurances into his luminous hair. “That was you in my dream, wasn't it? You're Louis, right?”

The ghost hadn't seemed to notice any of Harry's questions or Harry's careful approach, but he definitely startles at the name, turning to look at Harry with wide eyes. “That's my name. Louis.” He glances at the tub again, and from this distance, Harry can see that the ghost's expression is extremely sad. “Did I die? I don't remember...”

“I think so.” Harry reaches out to touch the ghost, trying to offer some comfort, but he stops his hand just shy of actually touching him. “Who was that man?”

Louis looks at him questioningly, so Harry shrugs faintly. “In my dream, I was you and you were taking a bath while your lover was in the living room. And there was a cat sitting...” Harry points toward the corner of the tub and realises that it's the same corner that the candle wouldn't stay put in. “That must've been Jake knocking the candle over, right? And you standing over the tub while I was in the bathtub earlier.”

“I'm sorry to have scared you. I didn't think you'd see me.” Louis wrings his hands again, and Harry wishes he could actually touch him, if only to stop the troubled look on the ghost's face. “I don't remember his name, the man who did this to me....” He presses his hands to his mouth, the worried look fading into shock. “Oh god, I did die and now I'm a ghost. That explains why no one can see me, and why I can't remember anything important.”

Harry chews the inside of his cheek. “Don't worry about it. I think it's nicer to know that the person that was watching me is a ghost and not someone who could hurt me.” He hesitates, a sudden worry crossing his mind. “You can't hurt me, can you? I don't know much about ghosts, really.”

Louis shakes his head. “I can't really do much. People have heard me, but I don't think I've ever done anything to them. Their stuff, sure, but not to them.” He pauses, looking thoughtful and Harry finds himself wondering what the ghost would look like if he were to smile. He doesn't know where the thought is coming from, but he doesn't think the time is right to focus on it. Besides, it's all very odd and off-putting to have such thoughts about a ghost he can't actually touch. “Do you think there are books about what ghosts can and can't do?”

Harry smiles faintly. “Definitely. I'll see what I can find and let you know, alright?” He hesitates again, a thought that hadn't occurred to him suddenly presenting itself. “You will always be here, right?”

Louis smiles weakly, and while it doesn't quite reach his eyes, it's infinitely better than both the sad and worried looks that had been on the ghost's face since Harry first saw him. Harry wonders again what a smile that reaches Louis' eyes would look like. “I'm either here in the flat or not anywhere. I guess that's the downside to being a ghost.”

The ghost looks down at the tub for a long moment before up at Harry. “I just realised something. You know my name and my cat's name, however unconventionally it came to you, but I don't know yours or your cat's.”

Harry laughs despite himself. “Sorry, I normally have much better manners. It's Harry. And the cat is D.C., by the way. Named for the cat in the old Disney movie.”

“Harry...” Louis tries the name out and Harry doesn't think he's ever heard something sound better than his name on Louis' ghostly tongue. It gets even better when Louis smiles warmly up at him. It's definitely everything he could possibly hope for. “I like the sound of it. Harry.”

D.C. pads into the bathroom, hopping up on the rim of the tub. The cat sniffs a bit at the air in the corner before rubbing up against something only he could see. As soon as the cat's body connects with whatever it smells, a second cat – a transparent version of the fluffy cat from Harry's dream – begins to appear out of thin air.

The sight of the cat makes Louis' face break out into a huge smile and he carefully picks up the cat. Harry figures it's because both of them are ghosts, because Louis had mentioned that he couldn't handle most physical things. Louis turns to Harry, still smiling. “This is Jake, although I can't remember why I named him that.” His face falls a moment later. “You know, if I was drowned and that's why I'm a ghost, something must've happened to Jake. That's horrible to think.” He kisses the top of the cat's head. “That's horrible to think.” He repeats himself, voice fading into nothing.

Before Harry can say anything in response, the pair slowly disappear into nothingness. He stares at the place the pair in something that feels a bit like numb shock had been before making his way through the rest of the flat, in case they reappear somewhere else, but he's home alone as far as he can tell. He finds D.C. waiting for him once he gets back to the bedroom, and he crawls back under the covers, feeling more alone than he had before.

He knows deep down that Louis and Jake are still in the flat, even if he can't see either of them. But he privately wishes that either one of them had stuck around so he isn't alone with his thoughts in Zayn's absence.

He reaches over to turn off his lamp, hoping he'll see Louis and Jake in the morning. He forces himself to not think that both ghosts were just a byproduct of a terrible dream. Both the young man and the cat had seemed far too real to be byproducts, and he'd interacted with Jake before the dream even happened.

Hell, Harry isn't even sure what he's going to tell Zayn.

 

 

Before meeting Harry, Louis had measured time in Here and Not Here. After meeting Harry, though, Louis measures time in being around Harry and not being around Harry.

There are a few times where Louis is around Harry and Harry can't see him. It's very frustrating for Louis because Harry's been the first person that has ever been able to see him. Well, except for that baby, but he's not counting a baby because while cute, a baby isn't exactly stimulating conversation. Even Jake is better conversation, and cats can't really carry a conversation.

Harry's cat D.C. can always see Louis, though, so whenever he's around, he pays plenty of attention to the cat. It's not much because he can't actually touch the creature, but he takes special delight in blowing across the cat's short fur. It's about the third or fourth time of him startling the cat in this manner that Harry finally equates his cat acting crazy to the cat reacting to Louis' presence, even if Harry can't see him.

The day after discovering that D.C. is greeting an otherwise invisible ghost is the day Harry starts bringing various books on the paranormal home with him. When Louis asks on one of the occasions he can be seen, Harry just brushes it off as needing to get more informed on ghosts.

 

 

A few weeks and quite a lot of reading later finds Harry sitting in his friends' Liam and Niall's flat below his own. It's more a guilt trip on Zayn's part - “You've been wrapped up in some really weird things, Harry, ghosts? Really?” - than anything else, and all Harry really wants to do is be back up in his own flat. He's only seen Louis a few times since they first met, but he sees Jake plenty of times. He's also come to the conclusion that Zayn can't see either ghost, which is the only reason Zayn had gone on the guilt trip that brought Harry down in here in the first place.

He's still pretty caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't immediately notice Liam looking concernedly in his direction and realises that he's missed a question directed at him somewhere. He shakes himself, pasting a smile on his face. “Beg pardon?”

Liam glances over at Zayn and Niall, and Harry's starting to get worried the question he's missed is more important than he'd thought. “I just wanted to know what you've been up to. Zayn says you've been locked in your room a lot, reading and maybe thinking you're seeing ghosts.”

Harry shouldn't be surprised that Liam and Niall know about the reading, if not the subject matter; he really shouldn't. And because they've been in the building longer, maybe Liam and Niall know about whatever happened to Louis. He's about to say something about it when Niall speaks up.

“Zayn says you've been pretty interested in ghosts and the previous tenants of your flat.” Niall makes a face at Zayn when the other man groans like he'd only said it in confidence and hadn't meant it to get out. “Your flat's a bit off, mate. Bathroom gives me the creeps.”

Harry sits up despite himself, blinking. To the best of his knowledge, Zayn's boyfriends hadn't felt or seen Louis or Jake. Niall talking about the bath is definitely worth pressing. “You've felt something in the bathroom?”

Niall shrugs. “I'm Irish, so being sensitive to things like that is in my heritage. Just always feels like I'm not alone when I've had to use the toilet.”

Harry mulls this over and is about to say something when Niall speaks up again.

“Since you're interested in the previous tenets, when Liam and I moved in here, there was a rumor about the lad that used to live up there.” The blond points up at the ceiling as if he thought Harry didn't know which flat he meant. “Some guy in the building found him unconscious in the bath. Ambulance was called in and everything. Could be why I always feel awkward in there. History of the room.”

Zayn looks almost pained with the information, like he's already worried that Harry's going to look into the rumor. Harry's pretty sure he's right, to be fair. “If some bloke was found unconscious in his bath and got help, he can't be a ghost.” He turns to Harry. “You hear that? If you look into what Niall just told you and you find out that he's alive, please stop it with the ghost research. This feels too much like you're just exhausted and needing an escape.”

Harry wants to say yes, wants more than anything to think that maybe his friends have a point and that there is no reason for there to be a ghost in the flat. But Zayn, and Niall, haven't met Louis or Jake; they don't know that there's actually a pair of ghosts there.

There must be something of his thoughts on his face because Liam awkwardly clears his throat, blushing when all three lads turn toward him. “What about if Harry looks into it, and the bloke died on the way to the hospital or something? Could explain why Harry's interested in a ghost now, right?”

“Liam...” Zayn begins, but Liam holds up his hands placatingly.

“Think about it. I've always heard that you're more open to this stuff if you're exhausted. Zayn, you've said a few times that Harry's been tired since you two moved in, and it was a big deal.” Liam shrugs. “Maybe Haz has seen something up there. We've only got rumors about someone getting hurt up there, after all.”

Harry hugs Liam tightly, kissing his cheek. “Thank you for not thinking I'm crazy, Liam.” He looks at Zayn, worrying the inside of his cheek. “And yeah, I'll look into those rumors.” He hesitates, knowing he's not going to like what's going to come out of his mouth. It rather feels like he's being disloyal to Louis and what Louis' going through. “And if the rumors are true, and no one actually died, I'll stop with the ghost research.”

Zayn looks a lot like he wants to start rubbing the bridge of his nose and sigh exasperatedly, but to his credit, he doesn't. “Deal.”

Harry moves to hug his roommate, wrapping himself tightly around the other man. “Thank you,” he whispers into Zayn's hair. “You being supportive really means a lot to me.”

He feels Zayn exhale into his hair as Zayn hugs back. “I don't believe in ghosts myself, but I've also never really seen you throw yourself quite into something like you are now. Not even work.”

Harry laughs weakly, knowing that Zayn's right. He also doesn't know how he'd feel if he looks into what happened to Louis and getting real answers.

 

If he's honest, Louis has had no idea what Harry's been doing for the past couple weeks, even if he's hopelessly endeared by the effort. He knows in theory that Harry's been busy researching ghosts and the like; but in practicality, he doesn't see how it helps either of them. There's still plenty of times when Louis is in the flat and Harry doesn't see him, but as time goes by, the instances that Harry can't see him or Jake are less and less.

Now is one of those times when Harry can't see him or Jake. He knows that Harry is aware Jake's sleeping curled up next to D.C. on the bed, although Harry can't see the ghostly cat. Besides the cats and Harry's lanky form, the rumpled bed is covered in newspapers. He can see the date on the closest one and it triggers something in his memory, although as soon as he tries to grasp at the memory, it quickly fades.

As Louis watches invisible and unheard, Harry pulls yet another newspaper to himself with a sigh. Harry's green eyes scan the paper before his whole body stiffens, mouth dropping open. The young man hops up, hurrying out into the living room. Louis follows him out of habit, still unseen.

“Lou!” He waves the newspaper like a flag, looking around the otherwise empty room. His face starts to fall like he's suddenly realised he's alone, but then brightens suddenly when he sees Louis. “I don't know how you do that, but look!” He shoves the newspaper toward Louis.

Louis looks down at the proffered newspaper, trying to discern what Harry's trying to show him. There's a couple stories about a local drug bust and a small fire on the other side of London. He begins to raise his eyes up to Harry, fully prepared to ask what he's supposed to be looking at, when he spies a picture of himself.

It's a black and white picture, and it's been a very long time since Louis' seen his reflection in a mirror, but he knows instantly that it's him. The picture accompanies a story about a mysterious break-in and a tragic accident. He doesn't read much of it before he turns his gaze up to Harry. “What-.”

“It says that someone broke into your flat and tried to drown you.” Harry shakes the paper like he expects more answers to fall out of it. “A neighbor saw your open door and called it in.”

He rolls the newspaper up with a proud expression on his face, like he's solved the greatest mystery of his life. “I was reading that ghosts stick around because they've got unfinished business. Maybe that's why you're still here. Your attacker was never brought to justice.”

Louis worries his lip, eyes flicking down to the newspaper. Something nags at him that it isn't quite as simple as that, although it _was_ his picture next to the story. “So I died in the bathroom then?”

He feels guilty when Harry's face falls and the other man opens the newspaper to reread the story. “It doesn't say anything about you dying.” He hesitates, catching his lower lip between his teeth. “But there was that dream I had before I met you. If that's what happened, you knew your attacker.”

The words resound through Louis, pulling at memories that he can't quite grasp at, no matter how hard he tries. “And it wasn't a break in.”

Harry looks down at the story, shaking his head. “It also says that you made it to the hospital and were unconscious, but otherwise stable.”

“And not dead.” Louis tucks his hands in under his armpits, looking down at the floor. “So why am I a ghost?”

To Louis, it looks a lot like Harry collapses into himself at the question. It makes Louis feel bad because that wasn't his intention at all. He's very well aware that Harry's been pushing himself to get to the bottom of Louis' problem; Louis doesn't know what Harry does for a living, but he knows that whatever it is, it's been mostly pushed toward the back burner so Harry could focus on Louis and what happened to him. And Louis genuinely has no idea what he's ever done to merit someone like Harry, or even what he could do to return the favour.

“I don't know.” Harry finally says, looking and sounding utterly sad. Louis feels a pang of guilt, knowing that pointing out that Harry's theory was flawed put that sadness in Harry's voice. “But I can't go further than where we are now, Lou. Zayn made me promise that I'd keep up with this until I found out what happened to you, and if you were alive, I'd stop with the ghost stuff.” He looks down at the story again, looking like he's hoping that it's changed since he read it last and finding that it hasn't. “You survived to the hospital. That's the end of it for me.”

Louis feels cold – the first thing he's felt in a very long time – at the prospect of going away or never interacting with Harry again. Some of it must show on his face because Harry reaches out to him, fingers brushing through his arm. The touch is warm, and that's odd to Louis because Harry's fingers go through his ghostly outline, and he shouldn't have felt anything.

He wants to talk about that, see if Harry felt the same thing, but before he could say anything, Harry's hand drops once more.

“I'm sorry, Lou. I'm sorry that someone hurt you, and you're the way you are now. I wish I could do more, but unless something else happens, I can't do anything.” He brings his hand up like he means to cup Louis' cheek, but he drops his hand again like he realises he can't actually touch Louis. “And if my dream is what really happened to you, I don't know why your poor kitty is a ghost too. And I feel so sorry and sad for you.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, things fade to black.

 

 

Harry rests his head against the back of the tub, looking up at the bath ceiling. It's been two weeks since he found out about the tragic events that lead to Louis being a ghost. Two weeks since he said he had to give up the quest to get answers to put a ghost, to put Louis, to rest.

The heartbreaking part isn't the latter; it's the fact it's also been two weeks since he last saw Louis.

Those last few moments have been playing in his mind a lot since then, taunting him with how sad Louis had looked when Harry said he had to walk away from investigating. He'd known, even as he'd said it, that he didn't have all the answers; he didn't know who had attacked Louis, and it certainly didn't explain why Louis' poor cat was also a ghost.

There had been a few days where Harry had thought Louis and Jake had crossed over to whatever comes next after this, but when Harry saw Jake curled up on his bed, he'd been sure that he'd see Louis again. After all, based on what he'd seen, if Louis _had_ moved on, Jake was far too attached to his owner to stay behind.

“But it's been two weeks,” Harry says aloud into the quiet of the bath. There's a soft plop at the foot of the tub, and although he knows he should make sure if it's a real or ghost cat, Harry can't find it in him to glance in that direction. His mind is still wrapped up into whether or not Louis' moved on. If he has, Harry's both happy and sad over it. Happy that he was able to move on, and sad for the same reason. He's also sad that if Louis has, it was without Jake in tow.

He shifts in the water, closing his eyes. Almost immediately, the last time he saw Louis is there behind his eyelids. The sadness in the ghost's eyes when Harry had to walk away. The way he'd faded into nothing, and hadn't been back since. He'd barely had any answers when he'd moved on.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry nearly misses the sound of humming coming from the hallway in front of the flat. It's distinctly feminine and it makes him sit up immediately. There's the possibility that Louis' moved on into the afterlife without answers, but that doesn't mean Harry can't get any answers, right? Surely he's got neighbors that have better answers than what he'd found in the newspaper; certainly better information than whatever Niall and Liam would have, seeing as they'd moved in after Louis' attack.

He quickly gets out of the tub, hurriedly drying himself off before finding a pair of trackies. As he pulls them on, he realises that he can't hear the humming anymore, and there's a moment of worry that he's missed whoever it was as he pulls his door open.

It's actually with some relief that he finds the flat manager, Eleanor, checking lamps in the hallway and replacing bulbs that had burned out. If anyone in the building had known anything about it, it'd be the flat manager, Harry reasons to himself. Eleanor had, after all, known about the previous tenants having issues in the flat, and had been incredibly flippant about pulling the crime scene tape – probably tape that had been from Louis' attack that had never been completely removed despite other people living in it. So if anyone should know anything, or even know where to direct him, it would _have_ to be Eleanor.

He's trying to figure out how to broach the subject to her – after all, she'd frozen when he'd originally said he'd had a question before he signed the papers to move in – when Eleanor glances his way and smiles.

“Hi, Mr Styles.” She says, waving the box of bulbs at him in a facsimile of a hand wave. “Everything okay in your flat? Nothing to report?”

“No, nothing.” He shakes his head, returning the smile she offers. “But if you've got a moment, I do have a question about a previous tenant.”

Sure enough, Eleanor freezes at the word 'question' and Harry's struck with a sudden worry that she's going to drop the box of bulbs in her hand. He'd help her pick up the glass so no one gets hurt if she were to drop it, but she seems to come back to herself before her hand completely loses the box.

“Sorry. I.” Eleanor pauses, setting the box down and taking a deep breath like she's worried any conversation they might be having will be one she won't like. “Which previous tenant?”

“I was just.” Harry begins, suddenly aware how odd any of this sounds, but powers through it. He's after answers, and feeling awkward about asking won't give him closure anymore than it would've given Louis closure if he were still here. “Friends of mine had mentioned that someone had been attacked in my flat. I did some research to see if they were correct.”

Eleanor's brown eyes flick toward Harry's flat like she expects it to hold answers, but after a few moments, she shakes herself. “There was a tenant that was attacked in the bathroom. He wasn't a bad guy. There were just.” She hesitates, and it's almost like she doesn't want to speak ill of the dead. Harry feels something drop into the pit of his stomach. “There were rumours that the person who attacked the poor guy lived in the building.”

She brings a hand up to push back her hair, clearly looking uncomfortable with the subject. Harry finds that he can't blame her; if he were in charge of an flat building where someone might be a murderer, he would feel incredibly uncomfortable about the subject too. He's about to say something, possibly apologize for even bringing the subject up even though he had his reasons, when whatever's on her mind makes Eleanor close her eyes and take another deep breath.

“They never caught the person who did it, but the last thing I heard, the tenant's fine.” She pauses, looking more awkward than uncomfortable this time. “Well, fine is relative. I've heard he's been in a coma since his attack. Which is why I've always dismissed talk about a ghost in your flat. You can't be a ghost if you're in a coma, right?”

Harry feels himself go cold at that, at the knowledge Louis' been in a coma, although it makes a lot of sense now that he thinks about it. Louis did have a habit of disappearing for a while; it could've been because he was back in his own body. It certainly didn't explain what had happened to Jake, but if he could find Louis' body, it might give him a better perspective on the poor kitty.

Something must show on his face because Eleanor pulls out a sheet of paper and writes down the name of a local hospital as well as 'Louis Tomlinson'. She hands it over to him, worrying her lower lip. “That's all I know, sorry. I don't even know if he's still there.”

Harry smiles, hoping it looks reassuring, and thanks her before heading back into his flat. He'd known Louis' last name from his research into what happened, but having a location where Louis might be is a new step. He doesn't know how he'd get into a hospital room if Louis really _is_ in a coma, but he's open to seeing how far he can get before someone stops him.

He finds himself looking for Louis around the flat as he gets dressed to head to the hospital, but he's not terribly surprised when he doesn't find either Louis or his ghostly kitty. He takes a deep breath to steady himself as he leaves a note for Zayn, knowing that Zayn will probably just think he's being crazy for taking it this far. But it's getting answers, right? If he doesn't follow through on this, Harry knows that he would feel guilty and anxious about never knowing.

 

Eleanor wasn't kidding about the hospital being close, Harry finds out when he parks his car nearly twenty minutes after leaving his flat. He still hasn't figured out how he's going to get a nurse to let him see Louis, or even if Louis' still located at this hospital, but having doubts aren't getting him anywhere.

He makes his way inside, feeling a bit lost as he looks around the waiting room. Now that he's here, he doesn't even know which floor coma patients would even be on. Eleanor's note didn't have that, and he's pretty sure that the young woman didn't have that bit of information anyway.

He must look like a lost little puppy standing there because one of the nurses sitting behind the receptionist's desk smiles warmly at him.

“Can I help you, love?”

“Um,” he begins as he approaches the desk, trying to pull himself together in a way that would make anything he says believable. “Do you happen to know what floor coma patients would be on?”

The two nurses glance between themselves before the one talking to him turns back. “Fourth floor, you can take the lift up, but unless you're family or a friend of, you won't get farther than the nurses' station up there.”

“Oh, friend of.” Harry lies, following it up with a smile so the nurse takes the bait. “Thanks for your help.”

Before she can respond, he quickly hurries to the lift and hits the button for the fourth floor. He feels guilty for lying to the nurse, and he feels even more guilty that he might have to lie to another nurse in order to get his answers. While he's grappling with his guilt, the lift doors open up on the fourth floor and he finds himself facing the nurses' station the nurse had told him about. Thankfully, there's only a single nurse working at it.

She glances up when he approaches, looking almost faintly annoyed like she knows he shouldn't be on this floor. “Yes?”

“I'm looking for a friend of mine.” Harry inwardly kicks himself as the lie comes out, but something inside him can't help letting it continue, forcing his face to contort into what he hopes is a believable smile. “You see, we used to be close, but we lost track of each other because life, you know?”

The nurse still looks annoyed, like she very much does _not_ know, but she doesn't say anything. He takes that as a sign to continue, either helping his case or digging his grave further. “I tried to get back in touch with him, but some mutual acquaintances told me that he'd had a really bad accident and had slipped into a coma. Hadn't woken up yet.”

The nurse doesn't say anything for a few minutes, the longest minutes Harry's sure he's ever been a part of, before she glances at a computer screen. “What's your friend's name?”

“Louis.” It's the first thing Harry's said since arriving at the hospital that isn't a complete lie and it feels like a giant relief to not be lying. Seriously, what sort of person is Harry becoming that he's lying about things to a nurse just to get some answers about a ghost? What has his life become? “Louis Tomlinson.”

The nurse looks back up at Harry like she'd rather tell him he could remove himself from the premises, but instead she gives him a room number and points down the hall. He smiles charmingly, giving a little wave as he heads that way.

As he approaches the room that Louis Tomlinson is in, he passes by a few other rooms that have their doors closed, but he can hear the soft beeping of various monitors. The beeping is a bit louder at his destination, the door open ajar, and he knocks softly on the door. He doesn't even know why he's gotten this far; just because he managed to successfully lie to three nurses doesn't mean he'd succeed at lying to any family members of Louis' if they happen to be in the room.

There's no response to his knock and he carefully pushes the door open. The beeping he'd heard gets louder the more the door is opened, but the room seems to be empty. He's just beginning to think the nurse had sent him to an empty room, even though there are monitors surrounding the bed, and a chair sitting on the far side of the bed like someone had been sitting there but had left before Harry had come.

He takes a few steps into the room, closing the door to its original position, ready to give the room a good look when he realises that the room isn't as empty as he'd originally thought. There's someone in the bed, and it takes a moment for it to register that the someone is the same someone as his ghost.

Being in a coma has made Louis look smaller than he'd seemed as a ghost, the sharp cheekbones even sharper in thin cheeks. It's a bit odd to Harry to see his ghost in physical form; to see colour where there was nothing but grey wisp and transparency. Louis' brown hair is shaggier than it was when he was a ghost, and his lashes are longer than Harry'd thought they'd be. There's also more than a bit of a scruff, but for someone who's been in a coma for a few months, he's pretty well taken care of.

As he approaches the bed, Harry glances toward the monitors. Some of them he can figure out, like the one monitoring Louis' heartbeat, and others he's not sure on. He follows the various cords from the machines to Louis' body and sinks down into a chair left sitting by the side of the bed. This close, the angles of Louis' face are sharper than they'd looked from the doorway, his body that much smaller. From the IV drip taped to the tiny wrist resting on the sheets near him to the feeding tube that separates Louis' thin lips, this is an entirely different person than Harry's ghost but it's the same person too.

He sits there for a few minutes, watching Louis without saying a word and listening to the monitors beeping softly around them. He's gotten this far, to a small little body that's being kept alive by machines, and Harry feels like he has more questions than answers.

He places his hands on the bed, maneuvering himself to stand up, when his hand brushes against Louis'. At the action, the monitor that Harry identified as keeping track of Louis' heartbeat jumps a moment before leveling out to its usual level.

“Is this why you're not in my flat anymore?” Harry whispers, shifting his hand to take Louis' smaller one. Like he thought, the monitor beeps a bit more before leveling out at a higher level than it had been.

“I wonder if that's new for you,” he continues, gaze dropping from the monitor to Louis, only to find a sliver of blue watching him.

Harry's not really a doctor and has only pretty basic medical training, but he's pretty sure coma patients don't just wake up this way. He knows that he should call the nurse, hurry out to get her, something, _anything_ , but while he's trying to decide what to do, there's suddenly someone in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” The woman says, clearly startled. She's dressed in scrubs, and Harry thinks that she must be a nurse on this floor before he notices that the woman's worn face is very similar to Louis'. She's clearly a relative of his, and her age says she's probably his mum.

“I...” He trails off, Louis' hand dropping out of his as he quickly stands up. He can't think of anything to say; it might've been easy to lie to the nurses to get him here, but he can't just lie to Louis' mum.

He's saved from saying anything when Louis slowly turns his head toward the door. It clearly looks like it takes him a considerable effort, a side effect of being in a coma for so long, but judging from how the woman gasps, it's enough.

The woman hurries back out, calling for the nurse, and Harry realises that he has to make his escape in the chaos that's sure to be in the room within minutes.

“I'm sorry,” He whispers to Louis as the other man turns his head back toward him with a look of sleepy confusion.

He feels a bit like a coward as he hurries out, not looking back.

 

Somehow, the trip home feels longer than it did going. Harry wishes he could shake the guilty feeling that feels like it's permeating into his bones, wishes he could take back the lies that had gotten him into Louis' hospital room or the look of confusion in Louis' face when he'd woken up.

He hopes that Zayn's still gone when he manages to get up to his flat, but his luck clearly ran out when Louis woke up because Zayn's definitely in the flat.

Nearly as soon as Harry steps into the flat, Zayn holds up the note Harry had left. “I thought you were done with this, Harry. You _promised_ that you were done chasing your tail for answers.”

Zayn looks so incredibly disappointed with Harry that the guilt he's already been feeling deepens. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing a bit. “I did. Things weren't making sense, though. But he's alive. I just saw him.”

“Harry...” Zayn begins, but Harry holds up his hands defensively.

“I got my answers, okay? He was in a coma.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, seeing the hospital room and Louis in the bed behind his eyes once more. “He's awake now, though.”

Whatever Zayn thought Harry was going to say, it's apparently not that because Zayn's quietly staring at him now. “He's awake?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugs faintly, pausing before he pushes on. “I just picked his hand up and he woke up.” When Zayn opens his mouth again, he holds a hand up once more. “Yeah, I know. It shouldn't happen like that. But he didn't know who I was. So I'll leave it alone now. If he was my ghost, he doesn't remember anything.” He hugs himself, suddenly cold at the thought of not seeing Louis again, even though he wishes him all the best. “I just wanted answers, okay? He hadn't been around in a few weeks, and I'm still seeing his cat.”

As soon as he says it, Harry realises that in the entire time he's been home, he hasn't seen the ghost cat once. It's rare, considering that even when Louis wasn't around, Harry would still see the cat.

Zayn looks around before back at Harry. “What are you looking for?”

“The cat. Not mine. There should still be a ghost kitty.” Harry pauses, a new idea coming to him. “I wonder if the cat was just like Louis was.”

Zayn doesn't say anything in response, but he realises that he doesn't need a response. He knows that Zayn's never _really_ been supportive of Harry in any of this; it had been Liam's idea to start looking into the background of the flat, after all, and Niall had been the only one to not think Harry was crazy for thinking there was a ghost in their home. Niall had even said that he'd felt uncomfortable in the bathroom where Louis had been attacked.

So Harry doesn't need Zayn's approval to follow this to its inevitable conclusion. He'd certainly like it; he'd love to have his best friend be supportive. But he doesn't actually _need_ it.

Zayn's still not saying anything, has not said anything since Harry questioned if Louis' cat was also in a coma. He is, though, looking faintly worried at Harry, like he's suddenly worried if maybe this whole thing has sent Harry off his rocker.

Before he's entirely sure why, Harry takes Zayn's face in his hands and kisses his forehead. “I know that I promised that I'd stop the search if I found out that the person who'd been attacked was okay. And I did.”

Zayn pulls his face away from Harry, looking like the only thing keeping him from wiping off the germs is his friendship with Harry. He sighs after a moment. “But he's not okay. Not entirely. Is that what you're saying?”

“You've never met him, Zaynie.” Harry smiles. “I don't know if he'll be like he was as a ghost, but it's worth a shot.”

Zayn must finally be over his fear of Harry being hurt about him rubbing off the kiss before he finally wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “You're such a sap.” He looks at Harry for a long moment. “This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?”

Harry's just about to answer when Zayn holds up his hand. “Don't answer that. Just. I know you're going to be moping around here wondering about things that could've been if you don't go, so just. Follow this through like you wanted to, okay?”

Harry smiles, hugging Zayn tightly.

 

Upon waking up from his coma, everything is a blur to Louis. The only thing he's had to latch onto upon waking was the young man he'd seen when he woke up, although his mum and the various nurses had had no idea who he was. He certainly hadn't come back in the days since, but the memory of him got Louis through the first few days of being awake once more. Especially because Louis couldn't remember much of anything before waking up. Oh, he remembered his family members, and his name, and the fact he'd had a pet cat. He just didn't remember what had happened prior to being in a coma.

The feeding tube stayed in for a few days after he woke up, all so the doctor could be sure that Louis was still getting what his body needed to survive while awake. It was with relief, and a bit of soreness, when the tube finally came out and Louis was put on a liquid diet.

He doesn't know how long the doctor intends to keep him in the hospital, but it's not all bad. He's got his own room, his family visits when they can, and his family was given the okay to bring his pet cat in for visits. The first time Jake had come for a visit, his mum had told him that Jake had been out of it the entire time Louis had been in a coma. The vet could find nothing wrong with the feline, though; as far as the vet was concerned, Jake was a perfectly healthy feline. The only thing the vet, and Louis' mum, could figure is that Jake's behaviour was a response to what had happened to Louis.

Louis' mum had waited until the feeding tube had come out before she'd told Louis about being attacked. Between her and the police officers that visited, he couldn't offer anything more than what anyone had already known; he didn't remember the attack.

Despite the visits from the police and family visits, for the most part, Louis' left to his own devices. He's not strong enough to walk without help, and there's already therapy and strength training in his future when he's better. There's a few books sitting on the end table by his hospital bed, along with the remote although there's never anything good on tv. His days are pretty much spent sleeping, and it's beginning to wear on him already.

It's been nearly a week since Louis woke up when the stranger comes back. The nurse delivering Louis' lunch had woken him up from his nap and he's groggily staring at his chicken broth and jello when there's a quiet knock on the door.

“Hiii,” the stranger waves awkwardly when Louis turns his gaze from his lunch to the door. There's a large toy cat tucked under one arm and from his hospital bed, Louis can tell it looks exactly like Jake. It should be weird, that he doesn't know this person, that this relative stranger looks a lot like home to Louis, but it doesn't. And Louis hasn't a clue why.

“Hi.” Louis answers, voice still rough from the feeding tube. He starts to push himself up, grunting a bit with the effort, but the stranger quickly comes over and helps him sit up. The stranger's hand is warm and far more familiar to him than it should be, and Louis finds himself focused more on the point of contact than the mild pain and protest his body gives him at the movement. Once he's settled in, the stranger hands him the toy.

“This is for you, by the way.” The stranger smiles faintly. “Saw it on the way here and it made me think of you.”

Louis takes the proffered toy, fingers burying a bit in the plush fur before blinking up at the stranger. “I'm sorry? I don't know you.”

The stranger's face falls for a fraction of a second before a warm smile blossoms, showing off dimples that Louis finds himself wanting to bury his thumb into and doubt that he even saw the brief moment of sadness. “Sorry, my bad. I'm Harry.” He settles into a nearby chair, pulling it closer to Louis' bed and grabbing the jello to open it. “I know who you are, though. I moved into your old flat.”

“That's my jello.” Louis protests weakly, hating how quiet his voice has become and quickly forgetting both the toy and the warmth he'd felt at the stranger's – at Harry's – touch. Harry doesn't seem to notice, but he does set the jello back down and reach for the broth.

“Excuse you,” He protests again, reaching for Harry's hand to shoo it away from his food. He lacks the strength to do much about it though, and when Harry picks up the spoon the nurse had left, it's pretty obvious that Harry knows it. Before he can say anything else, Harry's holding a spoonful of broth out for him.

“You struggled to sit up, and you just woke up from a coma.” Harry says by way of explanation. “I showed up at a good time, so let me take care of you, yeah?”

Louis wants to protest, wants to say that he's an adult who can take care of himself, but the energy necessary to grab the spoon from Harry just feels like too much effort. He nods meekly after a moment, opening his mouth and feeling a bit like a child as he lets Harry feed him the soup. Judging by the quiet smile on Harry's face as he feeds him, Harry knows exactly how he feels.

They don't say much as Harry feeds Louis spoonfuls of broth, Harry blowing off each and every spoonful before offering it up so it doesn't burn Louis. It should make Louis feel patronized or like a child, but instead, Louis just feels taken care of. And it's weird how much that doesn't feel, well, weird.

“One of my friends had heard of someone getting attacked in my flat.” Harry says after the broth is gone, setting the cup back on the tray and reaching for the jello once more. “Said my bath always felt off to him and then I looked into it and found out you were found unconscious in your bathtub.”

“That's why you're here?” Louis opens his mouth for the first spoonful of jello, and Harry nods as he obliges him. The other man's face becomes blank and unreadable through feeding him jello, but after a bit, his face clears and returns to the warm expression he'd had prior.

They're both quiet for a bit, the only noises in the room that of the spoon digging into the jello cup, the spoon clinking against Louis' teeth and the monitors that Louis' hooked up to beeping quietly. If it weren't going to hurt, Louis' pretty sure that he would start squirming in the silence.

Harry finally sets the plastic cup on the tray, setting the spoon down next to it, before looking up at Louis. “Do you remember anything about your attack?” When Louis shakes his head, Harry nods like he expected that answer. “I had a dream about you. That's really what sparked my interest in looking into what happened.”

Louis doesn't know how he knows, but he can tell Harry's lying. Maybe it's the same as how he didn't feel weirded out by being taken care of by a relative stranger, or the fact that Harry hadn't made him feel like he was patronizing an invalid. Before he can say anything, Harry starts chuckling awkwardly.

“Can I tell you something that I _know_ is going to sound crazy?” Harry looks up at Louis, and his green eyes are just so earnest that something in Louis' bruised memory stirs. He can't grasp at the memory, so he settles for nodding instead. Harry takes a deep breath, running his hand over his face as he tries to compose himself. “I moved into this great flat, okay? Sounded way too good to be true, price was way too good. But all the building manager could give me was some story about how people didn't want to stay in the flat. Had a history, see.”

Louis can tell that Harry isn't expecting a response when he pauses, but he shifts his hand closer to Harry's. A small little jolt shoots through Louis at the contact and Harry's hand closes over his as Harry continues to speak.

“Then there was this one night. My roommate was out, so I was taking a bath and I thought I saw someone standing in my bath.” He shrugs a bit. “No one was there, so I thought I was just imagining it and a candle that seemed to have a mind of its own and went to bed. And then I dreamed about you being attacked in the bath.”

Harry stops talking, watching Louis quietly like he expects him to respond before he takes a deep breath. “This is the part that sounds crazy. I woke up from what I thought was a nightmare, and you were standing at the foot of my bed. Well, you weren't there entirely. I could see through you whenever I saw you or your kitty.”

It takes a few minutes before something clicks in Louis' mind and he feels himself frowning, moving his hand away from Harry's. He's not sure that he likes how cold it makes his hand feel, makes his whole body feel, but he's also not sure if Harry's even right in the head. Especially not after a comment like that. “Are you saying that I was a ghost in your flat? I'm not dead.”

Harry's face falls a bit, eyes glancing briefly down at Louis' hand when it moves away. “I know that now. It became an issue with my roommate, but like.” He hesitates a moment before taking Louis' hand again. “I was doing research into ghosts in general and trying to find out what had happened to you. There's this thing called crisis apparitions. They usually happen at the moment someone dies...”

Louis frowns again, opening his mouth for a rebuttal when Harry squeezes his hand.

“No, no, obviously you weren't, aren't dead. Crisis apparitions can also happen during times of extreme distress. You've been in a coma caused by, to the best of my knowledge, extreme distress, right? You were attacked.”

“I don't know by who, though.” Louis points out, knowing it sounds like a weak protest. “This all sounds crazy. _You_ sound like a loon.”

Harry pats his hand, squeezing it warmly again with a small smile. “I know. There's also this thing called an out of body experience. There's stories of people experiencing it during surgery or even while they're sleeping.”

Louis quietly looks at him for a few minutes, processing that information. It's not perfect, and it's got plenty of holes, but... “They remember it then?”

“They do, yeah.” Harry pauses, chewing his lip. “Let me guess. You don't remember anything.”

He slowly shakes his head, absently running his thumb along Harry's knuckles. He hadn't noticed it before, but Harry's hand is so much larger than his. “Everything's black for me. The doctor says I had plenty of brain activity, which is one of the factors in why they never took me off the ventilator or any of the machines that were keeping me alive. But if I was dreaming, I don't remember any of it.”

Harry nods after a moment, like he had expected that answer. “Makes sense, I guess. I've never been in a coma, so I don't know what it's like.”

Louis chuckles quietly, flinching a bit when the action makes his already sore throat hurt that much more. “I don't recommend it.”

Harry smiles. “I'll keep that in mind then.” His gaze flickers down to their entwined hands, where Louis is still running his thumb along Harry's knuckles. “As much as I'm enjoying my time visiting, I think I'm overstaying it a bit. You look exhausted.”

It's on the tip of his tongue to protest, but as soon as Louis opens his mouth, he feels a huge yawn come out. It makes Harry burst out in giggles, causing Louis to smile faintly at him. “That's not fair. You knew that would happen.”

“Nah.” Harry leans forward to kiss Louis' forehead, smiling a bit sheepishly when he pulls back. “Sorry, that was overstepping boundaries a bit. We just did officially meet and all.”

Louis knows, somewhere inside him that he should protest, even a little bit, at the familiarity Harry just showed. But all he feels is that same warmth he'd felt when Harry had first come in. It's weird, that warmth; even if what Harry had suggested is true, that Louis was a ghost in his former flat, he shouldn't feel such warmth because they're literally strangers in the real world. It's a warmth that comes with familiarity, after all. He squeezes Harry's hand with a warm smile. “Doesn't bother me. You can come back?” He glances down, sheepishly watching Harry through his lashes. “I think I'd like that. If I were a ghost in your flat, our flat, I'd like to get to know you in the real world.”

Harry smiles wide at that, squeezing Louis' hand back. “I think I'd like that too.”

 

 

After that, Harry shows up nearly every day. Louis' not really sure what Harry does when he's not at the hospital, much less what Louis himself did before his attack. They don't really talk about it, though; when Harry found out about Louis' significant memory loss, he's been careful to keep the conversation light and to things in general that Louis' missed in the months he's been unconscious. Harry is also a total distraction once Louis starts physical therapy.

Physical therapy starts about a month after Louis wakes up. He's still pretty weak from the coma, and he's totally grateful for Harry being a warm and generous human being on the days that Louis musters up the energy to move from his hospital bed to the bath attached to his room. The first time Louis had managed to get out of bed, he would've fallen flat on his face if Harry hadn't shown up when he did. Louis had felt more than a little humiliated at having to be helped anywhere, but Harry had simply kissed his temple and allowed Louis the illusion of privacy.

Louis secretly thinks Harry's a godsend, and after one of Harry's visits, Louis finds out that plenty of the nurses and his own mum think so too.

In fact, it's during one of Harry's visits that Louis' physician recommends Louis start physical therapy. He even suggests that, because of Harry's influence on Louis' recent wellbeing, that Harry accompany Louis to therapy.

Louis finds out quickly that he's grateful that Harry's a distraction during physical therapy, and that Harry's quite open to being a cheerleader on Louis' side. Physical therapy is exhausting, and if it weren't for Harry's warm presence, Louis' positive he would've quit within the first two days. The nurses and physical therapists notice it too, and quite a few of the sessions find Harry helping Louis regain the strength needed to make even a few short steps.

“I don't know why you're still around,” Louis laughs quietly after one such session, exhaustedly watching as Harry tucks him into his hospital bed. He's been told that physical therapy is supposed to help him get stronger again, but the only thing Louis' noticed growing stronger is his voice. That, and his affection for Harry, but he's not sure if it's the same for Harry. And he doesn't want to push it, in case he's wrong and Harry decides that Louis' not worth it.

Harry smiles, fluffing up the pillow behind Louis' head. “I don't really know myself, but the company's not so bad.” Once he's sure Louis' properly settled into bed, he settles himself in his usual chair by Louis' bedside. Louis still doesn't know what Harry does when he's not at the hospital, wonders why Harry's spending all his time with him when he's mentioned a roommate and other friends, but he also doesn't want Harry to go away and never come back.

They settle into a comfortable silence, each to their own thoughts. Louis' just shy of falling asleep from exhaustion when Harry shifts in his chair. The movement startles him awake once more, blinking sleepily in his direction.

“I know we've only known each other a month, if that...” Harry begins after a few minutes of awkward silence, looking unsure. He hesitates, exhaling slowly. “Do you know yet what's happening after they let you out?”

Louis hasn't given it much thought, honestly. He doesn't know when his doctor will let him leave, and his mum, a nurse herself, has been avoiding the topic. He does know, though, that Harry knows most of this. He's about to respond when Harry cuts him off.

“I'm only asking because I know that your flat's out of the question, because I live there now. But I don't know if you really want to move back in with your mum, just so there's someone to take care of you.” Harry looks down at his hands, picking at a hangnail. “My roommate's thinking about moving out and moving in with his partners, so I've got an open room. If you want.”

Louis doesn't know what to say at first, and the first thought he really has is of his pet cat. “I've got a kitty though. What about him?”

“Jake can come too. When you were...” Harry pauses, picking at the hangnail again before looking up at Louis. “When you were a ghost in my flat, Jake was a ghost too and he got along pretty well with my own D.C. so we don't really have to worry about them.”

Louis chews the inside of his cheek. He knows that he shouldn't accept such an offer, even if it had originally been his flat before his attack, and he certainly doesn't want to be a burden on Harry.

He wonders if the thought, the fear, is on his face when Harry suddenly reaches a hand out. “Don't worry about being a bother, okay? If that's what's stopping you. I mean, I'm still here though all your therapy and I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be.”

Louis isn't sure how he feels about the whole thing at that very moment, but when he's released from the hospital a few weeks later, he finds himself moving into his old flat with Harry.

 

It's been nearly a month since Zayn moved out and Louis moved into Zayn's old room. Harry doesn't know why, but it doesn't feel like that at all. It's not the connection that he'd had with Louis when the young man had been a ghost haunting his bath, or even the connection they've had since Harry met him in real life. It should feel strange, the connection, but it only feels like a natural progression of events. Even D.C. takes meeting Jake in the fur in stride, acting more like he's greeting someone he hasn't seen in a few days than actually meeting someone for the first time. Jake seems to echo the sentiment. Both cats, it quickly turns out, are pretty eager to resume a friendship with the other feline owner too.

Louis still has physical therapy that he goes to every other day, with Harry's help and support. And Harry helps him with the workouts that the doctor sends home every so often. Every week, Harry's seen Louis get that much stronger, that much farther from the frail little thing he'd been when Harry had found him in that hospital bed while searching for answers.

It's not without issue, though. Louis doesn't remember much about the attack that had put him into a coma, but he remembers enough that it sends him into a panic the first time Harry leaves him alone in the tub a few days after he moves in. Louis apologizes later when they're both in the shower, small frame still shuddering from the scare.

“You shouldn't have to do this,” Louis whispers into Harry's shoulder as they both stand under the warm spray.

“I don't mind.” The thing is, Harry _doesn't_ mind. Shared showers become a thing for them, even after Louis gains enough strength to be able to take them by himself. Harry knows that his friends would side eye him and make comments if he were to mention it, but it's not even a sexual thing.

They settle into an easy routine, one that Harry would've thought himself incapable of before meeting Louis, and he's pretty sure that Louis feels the same way. The routine continues once Louis gets the okay to only need physical therapy once a week, then every other week. Somewhere along the line, Louis no longer needs physical therapy, but their easy routine continues.

The only thing they differ on is Louis doesn't leave the flat unless he has an appointment. Harry doesn't think it odd, thinks that he'd probably be the same way if he'd been attacked. Harry doesn't mind doing the shopping, and he already works from home, so Louis isn't really left alone ever again. The only times he's not with Louis are when he goes to visit his family or spend time with his friends.

Harry's friends don't really visit, with the exception of Liam. Liam and Louis don't hit it off right away, but Liam's hero complex kicks in soon enough, and Liam's visiting Louis nearly as much as he's visiting Harry. Louis, Harry notices, certainly appreciates the attention, and although Harry knows that Liam cares very much for Zayn, he feels a twinge of jealousy whenever he sees Liam and Louis interacting. And he doesn't know why; he's got no claim on Louis, and Louis' shown no real interest in Harry that way.

It's during one of those fits of jealousy that Harry decides to go visit friends without telling Louis he's going out. He feels incredibly petty about it, leaving without letting Louis know, but Liam had shown up half an hour ago with some action movie full of explosions and skimpily clad girls that had come out while Louis was in his coma. It's not Harry's kind of movie, and Louis' so wrapped up in it and Liam's attention that Harry finds himself getting to his feet and grabbing his coat to leave that it's not until he's halfway to his car that Harry's even aware of what he's doing.

He stops dead on the stairs, wondering who this hateful jealous person he's being is. He's so caught up in his thoughts that he barely even registers it when one of his neighbors passes him by. The man lives on the same floor as Harry; as far as Harry can tell, the man is happily married to his wife with three kids. Harry's seen them plenty of times, has said hello to the wife and kids countless times, but he's only seen the husband a few times.

The man's also busy talking on a cell as he goes, and Harry isn't sure how but the man's voice is _familiar_. Which is weird; he's never met the man.

Instead of continuing on to his friends', Harry finds himself following his neighbor back up the stairs. As they reach Harry's floor, Harry can hear a door opening, followed by a cautious, “Harry?”

He can hear the worry in Louis' voice at the name, feels all sorts of horrible at putting it there, but then he hears a second sound. It takes him a moment to place the soft clink: the neighbor's cell dropping to the floor. It takes a further second to realise just why. The man is staring at Louis standing in the doorway like he's seen a ghost. Louis is frowning in confusion at the man, leaning against the doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him upright. Physical therapy may be working, but Harry's pretty sure it's not all an act.

“Do I know you?” Louis asks into the silence of the hallway, eyes skating from the man's face to Harry's. At the sight of Harry, the confusion fades a bit. It's not completely gone; Harry can still tell that Louis has no idea who this man is, but he also looks like there's something he's trying to work out.

“I should've killed you when I had the chance.” The man mutters to no one in particular, bending down to pick up his dropped cell. It's so quiet that if Harry hadn't been standing behind the man, he wouldn't have heard it. Harry starts to ease himself around the man; he doesn't know why, but he suddenly has a need to be between this man and Louis. Maybe it's the fact that the man sounds so familiar to Harry without Harry knowing why; maybe it's the fact that Louis doesn't seem to recognize the man himself to merit such a reaction.

Harry wonders if Louis managed to hear it as well when he repeats his question, confusion heavy in his voice the second time.

“You just. You look very familiar and I just woke up from a coma so I can't remember some things.” Louis adds when the man doesn't say anything in response. He glances at Harry when Harry gets closer with what looks like a hundred questions Harry doesn't know if he can even begin to answer, and it's when Louis' looking in Harry's direction that the man moves.

He pushes past Harry, shoving his way into Harry and Louis' flat. As Louis had been standing in the door, leaning against the doorframe like he needed it, the action knocks Louis backwards onto the floor.

Harry's heard that when terrible things happen, it's almost like time slows down and that's exactly it feels like happens in the next few moments. The man – a relative stranger to Louis as far as Harry could've guessed – shoves into Louis, knocking the much smaller man to the floor, and is on top of Louis before anyone else can move. Harry dimly hears Liam yelling from the direction of the couch as he watches the man's hands close around Louis' slender throat in slow motion and he's suddenly reminded of other hands sliding around that same throat.

The memory – his dream – spurs Harry into action and he slams into his neighbor. He's definitely smaller than the man, but the surprise shove is enough to knock the larger man off Louis. It's also enough for Liam to get a chokehold around the man, tightening it when he tries to make another lunge at Louis.

“I don't know who you are,” Liam says, voice colder than Harry's ever heard it, “But it's considered bad form to attack people in their homes.”

If the man responds to Liam's words, Harry doesn't hear it, doesn't really care as he finds himself scrabbling over to where Louis is coughing and clutching his throat. Louis is also staring at the man with an expression Harry can't read.

Harry doesn't know how he finds it in himself to dial 911.

 

The cops arrive within minutes of being called, paramedics right behind. It's both the quickest and the longest period of time Louis' ever found himself waiting.

“I'm fine,” Louis bats at Harry a bit weakly when Harry tries once again to check his throat before the paramedics can get over to him. He doesn't know how bad his throat looks, but he's got a vague idea with how everyone is looking at him like he's been made even more fragile in the wake of his attack. Everyone, that is, except his attacker. He still can't place the man, much less explain to the police why the man had attacked him.

“You're not fine,” Harry says after a few minutes, hovering rather uselessly behind the paramedic that is currently checking Louis out. “You were just attacked in your own home.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Louis repeats, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The paramedic smiles quietly, making a few notes before telling Louis that she thinks it'd be best if he were to go to the emergency room.

“Just to make sure you're okay, honey.” She adds, glancing at the police still interviewing Liam and Louis' attacker. “The cops can talk to you there. Health's more important and all.”

 

It's late when they finally come home. Louis checked out just fine at the doctor's, with a warning to take it easy and a prescription for a pain medication if Louis needs it. All he really wants, though, is to crawl under the covers and process what happened.

He'd had very little to tell the police. They'd already known that he'd been in a coma, had very little memory of the events that had led up to it. He hadn't been able to tell them why he was attacked; if he'd known the man prior to his attack, he definitely didn't remember him. He certainly had had no contact with the man after he'd moved back into his old flat with Harry.

He's standing in the doorway to his bedroom, wondering if he's got it in him to undress himself and crawl under his covers, when there's a soft touch at his hip. It's almost ghost-like and it twinges at half forgotten memories and half remembered dreams that he can't properly grasp at. He turns into it despite himself, and finds himself looking up into concerned green eyes. There's another twinge at his memory at that, another pair of worried green eyes, and that is bothering him far more than being attacked by someone he doesn't know.

“Do I know you from something else...?” Louis finds himself saying in the space between them. There's a part of him that wants to move away from Harry's touch, doesn't know why there's this connection he can't explain, and it's got nothing to do with Harry being the first person he saw when he woke up.

As if aware of where Louis' thoughts are, Harry smoothes his hand along Louis' side before pulling his hand away. Louis tries to ignore how much colder his side feels without that touch. “First person you saw when you came out of your coma. That's all.”

Louis can hear the lie in the sentences. He doesn't even know how he knows that there's a lie in Harry's words, doesn't know why Harry would need to lie _at all_. He does remember Harry's assertion back at the hospital before Louis was released about being a ghost, and he wonders if the lie has to do with that. Wonders if...

“It's not that. You mentioned oh so long ago about my having been a ghost in your life. Is that. Did we have a connection when I was a ghost?” He doesn't know why he's saying what's coming out of his mouth, but it makes Harry cup his cheek.

“You've had a shock, okay? Someone attacked you, and you need sleep. I know that I once told you you'd been a ghost and I still stand by that. But we weren't like that. Just friends.” Harry's lips curl up in a smile, just a hint of a dimple pressing itself into his cheek. “Ghosty friends. You and me and our cats.”

It sounds crazy, Louis knows that, but instead of protesting that Harry sounds crazy, he finds himself being led to bed. Harry tucks him in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. It doesn't take him long to fall asleep.

 

Louis feels incredibly satisfied, stretching leisurely in the sweat soaked sheets. He reaches behind himself, searching for someone. A far more rational part of Louis isn't sure who he's looking for, some part of him that's buried in forgotten memories, but he finds himself rising and padding out to the living room in search of whoever it is he's looking for.

“Babe?”

There's no one in the living room, but in the surreal dreamlike quality of the memory he's reliving, Louis can feel like someone's pacing around him and muttering to themselves. His fingers reach out, ghosting along something only his memory knows, and Louis feels his mouth twisting in a smile.

“I'm gonna take a bath, wanna join me?”

There's no answer, but Louis nods like there is, making his way to the bath. Jake pads after him, taking position in the cat's usual favourite place. Louis goes through the motions of filling up the bath, slipping into the warm water once the tub is full.

He lazily pokes his cat with a toe, smiling when Jake hops off the soaker tub and pads out of the bath. Beyond the open door, he can still hear his lover pacing and muttering to himself. He finally manages to convince the man to join him in the bath and is about to smile when he realises that his lover is looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

He shifts to get out of the tub, feeling his body grow cold, and....

 

Harry's woken up by the sound of screaming from the next room. He doesn't even think twice before he's getting out of bed and hurrying to Louis' room. The other man is sitting bolt upright in bed, still screaming.

“Hey, hey...” Harry settles next to Louis on the bed, wrapping an arm carefully around the smaller man's waist and rubbing his back. Although expecting Louis to pull away, based on how scared he looks, Louis eventually subsides to a faint whimper and curls into Harry's side.

“I had a bad dream.” Louis says after what feels like nearly a lifetime of quiet whimpering. “Although, maybe it wasn't a dream...”

Harry presses a kiss to Louis' hair, still holding him close. “I had a pretty bad dream too once, about you.”

Louis' quiet for a bit, but Harry feels him shift. He doesn't even have to look down to know that Louis' watching him, but he does anyway. “About me being hurt in the bath, right?” Harry doesn't do anything, but something must show up on his face anyway because Louis gives a small nod. “That's what I thought. I just dreamed about that.” He laughs, but the sound is so different from the laugh Harry's grown attached to, a more humourless and subdued laugh. “Wasn't a dream, though. And...”

His voice stops so abruptly, breath soft against Harry's neck, that for a moment Harry thinks that Louis fell asleep mid sentence. He wants to look down, but before he can, Louis speaks again.

“It was him, y'know? The man who attacked me earlier tonight.” He laughs again, the sound still sounding so drastically different than it usually does, and runs a hand across his face. “I don't remember much about him, but he attacked me that night too. Must've been mad he hadn't finished the job in the first place.”

He shifts, pulling away, and Harry makes himself glance down. He's glad he does because Louis' looking up at him with the softest expression he's ever seen. There are ghosts of every other expression he's ever seen on Louis' face, both as a ghost and in person, but it's so much more.

“What on earth could I have done to him that would make him want to kill me? I thought...”

Whatever he thought, Harry thinks he already knows. He remembers his own dream before he'd met Louis as a ghost; he remembers the fact that Louis and his attacker had been lovers. He's not quite sure if Louis knows the whole story, or if it's even his place to find that information out. But it's also not fair to leave Louis, who already has plenty of doubts about his own forgotten memories, to stay in the dark.

Harry clears his throat after a moment, suddenly distracted by the dark ocean that are Louis' eyes. It's luring him down a path Harry's not entirely sure he's allowed down, and considering that Louis' last lover attacked him, he's fairly sure that Louis' probably not up to it either.

“I know you don't remember much about your life before, but do you remember your neighbors?”

The dark ocean that was Louis' eyes clears up a bit as Louis tries to remember, and Harry feels a lot like someone left adrift in the wake of the difference. After a few minutes, Louis finally shakes his head no.

“I remember that I was mostly working from home. I didn't get out much.”

The fact that Louis can remember that makes Harry want to cheer because it's more than Louis' remembered previously, but he manages to keep it to himself and nods.

“The man who attacked you was, is a neighbor of yours. He lives on this floor, actually.” Harry hesitates, suddenly not wanting to continue with what he does know. “His family too. Wife, three kids.”

To be honest, Harry's not really sure how he expects Louis to react to the information. What he doesn't expect, though, is for Louis to start laughing. It's not the humourless sound it's been, which is a plus in Harry's book; the laugh has an edge of hysteria to it and Harry's suddenly worried he's managed to break whatever was left of Louis' poor fragile mind.

It doesn't help the matter when Louis falls backwards on the bed, burying his face in his hands so that the sound of his hysterical laughter is muffled. Harry's just about to consider calling someone to see if hysterical laughter is a side effect of mental trauma when the laughter stops as abruptly as it had begun.

“Makes sense, you know?” Louis doesn't move his hands when he finally speaks, his voice muffled. He doesn't say anything else for a few minutes and Harry's just starting to become even more worried when Louis' hands move away, Louis staring blankly up at the ceiling. “Him having a family, I mean.”

His hand wanders over to Harry's, fingers ghosting along the backside and resting gently against Harry's wrist like Louis' trying to ground himself in the now, even as his mind is retreating into refound memories.

“He never spent the night. Always had an excuse for everything.” Louis' free hand comes back to Louis' face, burying itself in the soft strands of Louis' hair and Harry finds himself jealous of it. “You know how in movies and books, the girl always finds out that those sorts of signs are a sign he's cheating on you?”

His eyes skip from the ceiling to Harry's face, dark and deep like an ocean once more, and this time, Harry feels like he's drowning in it. “But I didn't think that of him. Which is stupid in hindsight, because _I_ was the other woman.” He chuckles, eyes closing and Harry feels adrift once more. “Other man.”

Harry licks suddenly dry lips, shifting to lie down next to Louis. He has the urge to do more than that, but he's pretty sure that if he were to do more, he'd be just as much an arse as Louis' ex. He's too busy trying to steer his thoughts back to a more normal place to properly notice when Louis shifts closer, rolling onto his side and looking down at Harry.

To be fair, Harry's not _dead_ and there's something in the expression that Louis' got on his face that makes Harry lean up to press his lips against Louis'. He knows what should happen, knows that he or Louis should pull away and pretend that this kiss isn't happening, this kiss never happened. There's a moment where Louis pulls a fraction away that Harry thinks that Louis' come to his senses, that at least one of them is being smart about how bad this is.

“This isn't a good idea, is it?” Louis asks in the space between them, but it sounds more rhetorical than anything. He certainly isn't expecting an answer from Harry because he presses his lips against Harry's, shifting to straddle Harry's hips as he licks his way into Harry's mouth.

“It's not,” Harry breathes back, fingers curling against curvy hips as he opens his mouth and closes his eyes.

There's no talking after that, just soft gasps and sighs as clothing seems to disappear between the two of them until skin touches skin.

“Can still back out.” Harry finds himself saying even as he rolls them over and propping himself up above Louis. Louis is looking up at him, eyes dark and mysterious as the ocean once more and so, so very deep. Harry finds himself wanting to see that more, wants to dive deep into every depth that this person, this very _soul_ that first appeared in a bad dream and became a ghost in his life. But he also wants Louis to pull away, wants him to realise that this is all just a reaction to a bad dream, a bad experience. That it's something they might very well regret in the morning.

He wonders how much of that is in his face, how much of it is showing, when Louis leans up to kiss him again.

“I don't want to.” Louis whispers when he finally pulls back, fingers coming up to curl in Harry's hair. “You're the first person I saw when I woke up. _You_ woke me from my coma, Harry. That's got to account for something, yeah?”

Harry groans despite himself. He doesn't want to disagree with Louis, thinks that Louis is very much right. He ducks down to kiss him again, settling more firmly against him.

They stay like that for a while, kissing lazily and rocking against each other. Harry doesn't remember the last time he's been with someone, and he's more than pretty sure the last time Louis' been with someone was his attacker, but lying here doing this is better than anything Harry's done in the past. Judging by the quiet little moans and gasps that fall from Louis' lips whenever they're coming up for air, Louis seems to be of the same opinion.

Harry finds himself pulling back, hand coming up to slide along Louis' feverish skin. His hand hesitates briefly at Louis' hip before Louis shifts, rolling closer like he's trying to melt into Harry. Harry can relate; he wants nothing more than to melt into Louis in turn.

He doesn't really think about it after that, hands against skin, soft moans and gasps. He also loses track of time in the process, unsure if it's minutes or hours later that they're both coming with shudders and groans, and he's not sure where he ends and Louis begins. What he is sure of is the way Louis feels after Harry cleans them both up and the way Louis fits against his side like he was made for it.

Harry thinks he could definitely get used to things like this.

 

Louis' main fear after sleeping with Harry that first night was that it would change everything, that he would lose everything, lose Harry. He worries about that the first few days after, but he finds out just as quickly that that fear is entirely unfounded.

If anything, Harry becomes so much more to him. Harry becomes Louis' rock, and Louis soon discovers that Harry feels the same way about him.

That knowledge becomes comforting during the trial that happens a few weeks after Louis' attack. Before the second attack, the police had had little information on who had put Louis into a coma in the first place. The neighbor had been a suspect because his fingerprints had been all over the crime scene, but his original statement had been to say that the only reason he'd been there was because he'd seen Louis' door open and had tried to be a good samaritan. After he'd attacked Louis the second time, he didn't have the same alibi and there were definitely witnesses this time around.

The downside to the trial is that it makes staying in the flat awkward, because Louis gets blamed for luring a married man away from his family, away from his ever faithful wife. It doesn't matter when it comes out that Louis hadn't known the man was married, that his attacker had picked Louis up and fed Louis a pack of lies. It doesn't even matter that Louis can't remember basic parts about the relationship because of the mental damage his coma had done.

While Louis is busy with the trial and having his name dragged through the mud by people who think he had his attack coming to him, Harry finds them a house far enough away from everything that came before.

“They're mad,” Harry tells Louis after one of the harder days of the trial, where Louis had to sit in front of a room of both strangers and friends and family and discuss his relationship with the accused to the best of his memory. By this point, Harry knows as much as Louis does, and hadn't been at the trial. Instead, Harry had been busy unpacking some of the multitude of boxes from their move. “They're mad that they've all been lied to.” He pulls Louis close, kisses the spot behind Louis' ear that Louis loves having attention paid to. “You're just a target for their anger. They want something to hate and you're so much better than any of them. So they're mad and you're easy for it because you still have so many gaps in your memory.”

“Doesn't make it easier.” Louis makes a face, leaning into him and flicking at the box Harry had been unpacking when Louis had come in and tucked himself up against Harry's side with a miserable sound. He can see D.C. and Jake fast asleep on the couch, snuggled into each other and some of the blankets Harry must've unpacked earlier.

“It will. And in the end, they'll see how very wrong they all were, and you can move on.” Harry ducks his head to kiss Louis softly, sweetly, and Louis can feel himself falling more and more in love with this person. He lets himself get led to the bedroom, lets Harry help him forget how awful everything in the trial is.

 

In the end, Louis' ex gets a few years in prison and Louis gets a restraining order for after the man gets out. Harry feels so, so proud of him, and they wind up celebrating with a massive dinner in their brand new house, surrounded by their families and friends.

There's a moment halfway through dinner when Harry's in the middle of the story of how he fibbed his way into Louis' hospital room and he happens to catch Louis' eye. There's a quiet smile on Louis' face, a quiet fond smile that Harry thinks he wants to see every day for the rest of his life. He wants to see quiet fond smiles, wants to see happy bright smiles, wants to hear cheerful laughter bounding against the walls. It doesn't matter that they met when Louis was a sad and lonely ghost haunting Harry's old flat. It doesn't matter that he'd scared Harry the first time they'd met, that he'd given Harry a terrible dream of his attack. It doesn't matter that Harry fibbed his way into Louis' hospital room to get answers to why Louis had gone. Doesn't matter all the frustration that had gone into Louis' rehab, doesn't matter that Harry's seen Louis at his lowest point. All that matters to Harry, all that will ever matter to Harry is that same quiet smile that Louis' directing at him.

A few months after that, nearly three years after Louis first appeared at the foot of Harry's bed as a confused ghost, Harry asks Louis to spend the rest of his life with him. It's of little surprise to anyone that Louis says yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I mentioned in both the tags and the notes at the beginning of the fic: the fact that Louis was in a coma when he was haunting Harry's apartment would've been a spoiler. It all turned okay, right? :)
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> If you want to poke me about anything or feel like you should follow me (I have a major Louis Tomlinson problem), you can find me on tumblr at doncasterkitten. Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are love.


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